The Phobia
by TeacherTam
Summary: Ryan knew that everyone thought his fear of heights was caused by some childhood trauma.
1. Chapter 1

Hi. waves timidly

Yeah. If any of you are still waiting for "Back in the Hole," I do promise that it's not dead. It just became very…big. And important to me. Too important to rush. So I stopped posting what I was writing. It'll come to you when it's all done. Until then, I just ask for your continued patience.

Now, as for this fic…

So happy! I wrote something new!

Did it occur to anyone, during "The Countdown," that Ryan seemed more claustrophobic than Seth? Probably not. But it did to me. So this has been in my head, since then, only just now fighting its way out.

There's more. But not yet.

Thanks.

Oh, yeah, I don't own anything related to "The O.C."

And, like I said in "Back in the Hole," I don't swear, but I believe Ryan does. So there's swearing. Lots. The F-word. Sorry if that offends. blushes

The Phobia

Ryan knew that everyone--if they thought about it at all--figured that his fear of heights came from some trauma at the hands of the asshole-of-the-week, while he was back in Chino.

When no one was around, that actually made him chuckle.

Not in the hey-that's-funny way, but more in the if-they-only-really-knew way.

'Cause the fear of heights? _So_ not caused by an asshole-of-the-week.

No, that had simply been a fear that he'd always had. There was no bad experience to connect it to.

It was just a thing he was born with.

Now, his fear of tight spaces…

That was started by an asshole. And continued by another. And cemented by a third. Then perpetuated by a string of them.

Seriously--did those guys have some sort of How-to-Fuck-with-Ryan chatroom? A network, or something?

'Cause how did they all _know_?!

And the worst part is that he'd _never_ told anyone. Not even Trey. Not after the first time, and not after any other times.

It didn't matter that he'd been young, seven years old, actually, since it had been his birthday. He'd still known that saying anything would only make it worse.

So he never told anyone.

Until Sandy.

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Sandy had locked him in the gardening shed. Not on purpose. Ryan _knew_ it wasn't on purpose. It can't have been.

But that didn't change the fact.

That he was still locked up. In a dark, hot space. A small, dark, hot space. Alone. In the dark. In a small space.

. 

He'd been looking for Sandy, and Kirsten had told him that Sandy was in the backyard, looking for an old surfboard. So Ryan headed out to find the man. When he saw the open door to the gardening shed, he called out for Sandy, but there was no answer.

Taking a peek through the door, Ryan saw that the gardening shed had really become a storage space for the Cohens. It was filled with boxes, an old tea set, what looked to be an antique sewing machine, and some old furniture. Not that Ryan could find a single gardening tool, inside this gardening shed. Which made sense, since the Cohens didn't need to store any gardening equipment. They had landscapers for that, and the landscapers had their own equipment.

Curious about what might be in some of those boxes, Ryan considered going in. He hated small spaces, especially small spaces with no windows and only one door. But it was a big door, and it was wedged open with a pretty sturdy-looking rock, so…

Ryan tested the rock's hold on the door with one foot.

Sandy would be heading back out here, to shut the shed's door. So he would have a reason to wait. He needed to ask Sandy to sign a permission slip for the field trip to the nuclear power plant.

Ryan waited. He tested the rock's hold with a slightly firmer nudge. It still held.

Ryan looked around, took a deep breath, and reminded himself that he wasn't in Chino any longer. No one would lock him in.

He decided to confront one of his fears, in this controlled situation. He stepped into the shed.

He instantly felt a surge of panic, a feeling that iron bands had just been secured around his chest and were slowly squeezing the air out of his lungs. But this was ridiculous. He was okay. He turned to look out the door. He was only one step into the shed. The door was wide open. Even if the door were to swing shut, it would not _lock_ on its own. Someone had to use the key to lock it. It would have to be deliberate. And no one would do that, deliberately, with Ryan inside.

So Ryan took another deep breath, forcing the steel bands to expand a bit, and turned back to the shed's interior. There was no light fixture and no windows, but the day outside was sunny, and it provided enough light, once Ryan's eyes had adjusted to the dimness. He began to wander, gazing at the labels on the boxes nearest to him, returning his gaze, every few moments, to the still-open door.

As time passed, and Ryan found more and more things to interest him, his worries eased. He would be okay. No one would lock him in.

He stepped deeper into the shed, and he saw a box with Seth's name on it. It was back behind an old wardrobe, and it was under a big desk lamp. Ryan walked over to it, removed the lamp, and opened the box. He found Seth's ceramic handprint from kindergarten. A picture Seth had drawn of his best friend (Captain Oats, of course). Seth's fourth grade report card.

Ryan was suddenly thrust into unforgiving, pitch blackness.

Ryan froze.

Fuck.

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The door had been shut. He heard it lock. He heard Sandy whistling, as he walked away.

Sandy had locked him in.

But why? What had he done? How could this be happening, again?

Ryan's first mistake had been going into that storage shed at all. Standing frozen in shock and horror, just after the door closed--erasing all the light and severely muffling all sound from the outside--had been the second mistake.

If only he had reacted instantly, rushed to the door and pounded on it, calling after Sandy, his foster father would have heard him and come running, opening the door and apologizing profusely. Ryan knew he would have.

But Ryan _hadn't_ reacted instantly.

Instead, he had frozen. Done what he'd always done, when surprised with a sudden, dark space.

He froze, afraid to make it worse, afraid to know that it was real. Because, all those other times, the few precious seconds that he spent frozen were a few seconds that he could pretend that the situation wasn't real. As long as he remained frozen in disbelief, he could imagine that the closet wasn't really locked, and that he was okay.

'Cause once he started with the panicking, it was only going to get worse.

So he stood, perfectly still, in the pitch-black, in the muffled silence.

Until he realized that Sandy would be walking away. From the gardening shed. Where the Cohens didn't usually go.

And he didn't know Ryan was there.

He _couldn't_ know Ryan was there. Because he wouldn't have locked the door, if he knew. Right?

So Ryan rushed for where he _thought_ the door was, but he hadn't really paid attention to the layout of the shed, when he'd wandered in, and he stumbled into something solid and immovable, falling over it and flailing wildly with his arms, attempting to grab onto something, to prevent a fall.

Which didn't happen.

Ryan was unable to maintain his balance in the dark, and he stumbled over countless unknown objects, crashing painfully into a sharp corner of something, twisting off to his left from the rebound, slamming his right shin into the corner of something else, banging his head onto something solid, finally falling to the ground, on top of what felt like a box, which collapsed underneath him.

Fuck some more.

As Ryan tried to sit up, using his left hand to push himself off the crushed box, he cried out at the sharp pain that shot through his wrist, falling back to the floor to avoid using the hand, and hitting his head, again, on something else as he went.

He lay there, breathing heavily, trying not to panic, cradling his injured left wrist, feeling a throbbing in his head.

Sandy was gone.

He'd sprained his wrist.

Sandy had walked away.

His head was bleeding.

Sandy'd locked him in.

The door was locked. Sandy had locked him in.

But it wasn't on purpose. Sandy just didn't know Ryan was in there. He couldn't have known. Ryan had been behind that big wardrobe, and he hadn't been making any noise, so how could Sandy have known Ryan was in there?

It wasn't on purpose.

But, if Sandy didn't know he was there…

Then Sandy didn't know he was there.

Which meant, how would he get out? If Sandy hadn't locked him in there on purpose, then how would he know to let him out?

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Ryan decided to ignore that particular fear, at least for the moment, and assess his injuries. Although his head was bleeding, he figured that it wasn't too serious, since he wasn't even dizzy. It just throbbed. He'd had worse. He had a definite sprained wrist (possibly broken), and minor aches from his bumps, but it could be worse.

So.

Now what?

Suddenly, the panic returned.

He was locked in. His dad had locked him in.

No. Not his dad. Sandy. Not his dad. Sandy wasn't his dad. Sandy was better than his dad.

Then why had he locked him in?

Stop it. He had to stop thinking of it that way. Sandy hadn't locked him in on purpose. It had to have been an accident.

He couldn't breathe. He began gasping for air, but he was desperate to keep quiet, because making noise only drew attention, and that would just be worse.

His panicked gasps turned to sobs, his vision began to gray out, and he faded into darkness.

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At first, when Ryan woke, he couldn't figure out why the room was so dark. He never slept in the dark. Not totally. There was always _some_ light. If it was just the nightlight in the bathroom, which he insisted was just so he didn't stub his toe in the middle of the night, or the light from the pool leaking in through the blinds that were never quite _completely_ closed, there was always some light.

So why was it so dark?

And why was his bed so lumpy?

Wait.

This wasn't a bed.

Fuck.

He wasn't in the pool house. He was locked in the gardening shed.

Sandy'd locked him in.

How long ago? Ryan couldn't even see his watch. There was no light.

Cell phone! Ryan couldn't believe he hadn't thought of that before! He could simply call, and someone would come out, apologetic and horrified, and they'd laugh it all off, even though Ryan's nightmares would be back again, full-force, but he'd be out, and he could breathe…

Ryan searched his two back pockets before he remembered.

His phone was in the pool house.

Charging.

Fuck.

Why hadn't he charged it, overnight? Then he'd have it now, and he'd be out of here in minutes.

Stupid.

But he _didn't_ have the cell phone, so he had to do something else.

Find his way out of here.

But which way was the door? How could he even find it?

The only way was to try.

So Ryan got up, careful not to use his injured hand, and slowly began to shuffle his way in…whatever direction he was facing. He figured that was as good a way to start as any.

He'd simply head in one direction until he couldn't go any further, then try to move in another direction. Eventually, he'd _have_ to run into the empty space that was right in front of the door.

Unless all the stuff that had fallen in his earlier flailing masked the presence of the door.

Whatever.

He'd have to try.

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After what _felt_ like an hour of searching, Ryan finally found an open space. He took cautious steps forward, arms in front of him, hoping that he was even walking straight, until he hit the wall of the shed. Choosing to head to the left, he kept one hand on the wall, and began to move. Within a few steps, he hit some more boxes, and turned back to head in the other direction. Before long, his hand came to rest on the handle.

He was holding onto the door handle.

But he couldn't turn it. He couldn't bring himself to try the handle.

It was against the rules. When Lucas locked him in, he wasn't supposed to try to come out. He had to wait until he was _let_ out, not come out on his own. He didn't want to make Lucas any madder.

Wait. Lucas? Where the hell had _that_ come from? He hadn't thought about Lucas in years. Well, okay, so he'd thought of some _issues_ that came from his time with Lucas, but he hadn't actually thought of the man, himself.

Ryan shook his head.

Lucas wasn't here. This was Sandy's home. And Sandy hadn't locked him in on purpose.

So Ryan tried the door.

Which, of course, didn't open.

Because Sandy had locked him in.

Stop it.

It wasn't on purpose.

Now what?

It was so hot in there. Ryan had been trying to ignore how hot he was, but there was little else to think about, especially with the sweat dripping down his face. He was so thirsty.

How long had he been here?

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When Ryan woke up, his first thoughts were of water and a bathroom. He had to go, so badly.

Stupidly afraid to leave the area near the door, he'd put off relieving himself until he couldn't stand it any longer. He got up and started walking away from the door, paying careful attention to how many steps he took in which direction, hoping he'd easily find his way back to the door.

The useless door.

He bumped against a box, or something, and stopped, there. He did what he could to move things away from the wall, hoping that he wouldn't damage anything important.

He did what he had to do, then headed back in the direction of the door, again, relieved when he found the comforting handle. The useless handle. But comforting, nonetheless.

He sank down, against the door, wishing for water.

How long until they let him out?

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When Hailey had locked him and Seth in the pool house, he'd been so afraid. He had started to shake, and his breathing was harsh. Seth, with his stupid overreactions and ridiculous comments, had not made it better.

Seth, pretending that he was claustrophobic.

Ryan said all the right things, all the things he always told himself, but it never helped. Like _Seth_ knew what it was like to be locked up, unable to breathe, afraid…

He'd been thankful that Seth assumed his attitude was merely frustration at not being able to be with Marissa to ring in the New Year. That was a convenient excuse.

But it was a lot more than that.

He was so afraid.

Not of Hailey.

But what was next?

Once, his mom had trapped him in a closet, shoving a big table in front of it. Not because she wanted to beat him. But because she wanted Steve to beat him, when he got home. She knew it'd piss Steve off if he'd given her any attitude during the day, because then she gave _Steve_ attitude, and Steve didn't like attitude.

Ryan could never remember what he'd done to piss off his mom. But she wasn't the one he was afraid of. Steve was coming home, later, and he was locked in.

So, now, Sandy would come home, there was a rager, there were drugs and drinking and naked guys in the pool, and what if Sandy was mad?

Which was stupid. Because, being locked in the pool house, it would be obvious that Ryan hadn't been part of all that.

But he still hated being locked in, and he didn't want Sandy to come home until they were let out.

And they were let out, and Ryan had again avoided anyone's realization that Ryan was claustrophobic.

But that had been a close one.

Ryan didn't think that, this time, he'd be able to avoid showing anyone how afraid he was. When they found him.

When they let him out.

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What Ryan had hated to admit to himself was that he spent much of his time, sitting in the dark, leaning against the door, holding onto the useless handle above his head, crying.

He was crying.

Not sobbing or anything. But the tears were steadily streaming down his face.

He couldn't stand being locked up.

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Ryan wasn't feeling well. He didn't know how long he'd been in the shed, but it had to have been at least 24 hours. He knew, because he knew the symptoms of dehydration. And he had them. He didn't ever have to pee, anymore.

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Shane was pounding on him. Pounding on his head. Ryan tried to roll away, out of his reach, and rolled right into a wall. He opened his eyes, trying to see, to get away, and realized that he was locked in.

But why was Shane pounding on him while he was _in_? The only semi-good thing about being in was that there were no beatings. The beatings happened while he was _out_, not _in_.

So why was Shane still pounding on him? How--?

Oh.

Shane wasn't here. It was just his head. His head really hurt. It was throbbing with his heartbeat. It just _felt_ like he was being pounded.

How long had he been here?

Sandy? Can I come out now?

. 

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Ryan wasn't even hot anymore. He was cold, though. He was cold, a lot. He shivered, moaning, begging for his dad to let him out. He didn't know why his dad had put him in here, and it had never happened before, but he couldn't get out. Why wasn't Trey helping him?

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Voices.

There were voices. _Fuck_. That meant that Mike and his buddies were back, and they'd start to play their games with Ryan, again. Mike was the first asshole-of-the-week that actually made Ryan _prefer_ being locked in. What happened _out_ was so much worse.

So Ryan tried to pull himself away from the door, but all of his muscles hurt, so much. Mike must've really done a number on him, before he threw him in here. He ached, and he felt sick. He was shaking from the cold and the fear.

The door was suddenly thrust open, and the light was so bright, piercing through his skull, that he cried out in agony, curling around himself, throwing his arms up to shield his face, both from the light and from the blows that were sure to come.

He heard voices, urgent, and cringed away from the figures that came near, whimpering.

He was tired, and he hurt, and he was scared. He didn't think he could take another of Mike's games, right now.

"Please, Mike, please…" he groaned, his voice harsh and gravelly, "No more, 'kay? Not now? Please. I'll be quiet…"

He trailed off, no longer able to speak, sobs breaking through, body shaking with fatigue and fear.

He felt hands on his back, on his arms, pulling Ryan's arms away from his face, not that it took much effort, since he was so weak. The light was still so horrible, and he was hurting everywhere, and he knew that Mike and his friends could see his tears, and it would be so much worse, for them, but he couldn't stop them.

The voices didn't make any sense, and they were dragging him out, where the light was worse, and the stretching of his muscles as they pulled him hurt so badly that he couldn't stop himself from pleading, "Please, please leave me alone."

"Ryan, Ryan, come on kid, it's me. It's Sandy."

Sandy? Who was…Sandy. Hey. Wait. Sandy?

"I'm not going to hurt you. It's okay, now. You're out of there. It's all okay, now. Help is on the way."

Sandy. Sandy was here. He'd locked him in. Was the punishment over? He was out, now?

Ryan had to apologize, make sure that Sandy knew how sorry he was, that he'd _never_ do it again, he'd learned his lesson, except that he hadn't learned his lesson, because he didn't know what he'd done wrong, and he couldn't do this again, he had to know how to fix it, so Sandy wouldn't have to lock him in again.

"Sandy, please…" Ryan began, only to be hushed by Sandy's quiet voice and gentle hands.

"Here, Ryan, take a small sip. It's water." He held a water bottle to Ryan's mouth, holding his head up, urging him to drink.

"I can have water? It's okay?" Ryan asked, afraid to drink it, because he wanted to be sure his punishment was out of the way, first.

Sandy's voice sounded broken as he replied, "Yeah, Kid, it's okay. You can drink the water."

Unsure of the truth of this, Ryan still took a sip, groaning in pain as the water scorched its way down his sore throat. It felt like swallowing glass, but it felt so _good_, too, and he had to have more. He reached up and grabbed the bottle, gulping the water as fast as he could.

Until Sandy yelped and knocked the bottle from his hands.

Trembling in fear, Ryan tried to curl back up, protecting his head, unsure of what he'd done to lose the water, since Sandy had _said_ he could drink it, sure of only one thing. Sandy was mad.

"So-sorry, sorry Sandy, I-I-I…" Ryan couldn't get any more out before Sandy interrupted, concern lacing his voice.

"Kid, I'm sorry I scared you. Ryan, please, please, look at me."

Unable to comply, Ryan at least tried to stay still.

"Ryan, I'm so sorry. I tried telling you that you could only have a little, but you weren't hearing me. I couldn't let you drink that much, especially not that fast. You've been too dehydrated for too long, and it'll only make you sicker."

Ryan knew that Sandy wasn't telling the truth. He'd just wanted to punish Ryan, and he'd succeeded. He'd been tricked. The water had been another way to punish him. He'd fallen for it.

There were more voices, more hands, and Ryan knew, now, that they weren't Mike and his buddies, but who were they, and what were they doing? He couldn't get away, and Sandy was back by his head again.

"Ryan, the paramedics are here. They're gonna take you to the hospital, now, and we'll get you fixed up. Okay? Just let them do their job, okay?" Sandy asked softly, and Ryan could hear the concern, the fear. It didn't make any sense.

Then the paramedics gave him a shot, and he didn't remember anything else.


	2. Chapter 2

_As always, this is for my amazing friend, Jenny. I love ya, T'hy'la!_

_Here is the long-ago-promised "The Phobia: Part 2". There will be a chapter 3, and possibly a chapter 4, but I make no promises as to when they will arrive._

**Warnings: This story (more so in part one, than in part two) makes references to child abuse. There is also quite a bit of swearing (the "f-word"), also more so in part one than in part two. I am sorry if that offends.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to "The OC". Please don't sue. I have nothing to give. Well, I do have a rather large student loan debt that you can take on, if you would like. Please. Feel free.**

"The Phobia: Part 2"

When he woke up, Ryan felt worse than he had, before. He opened his eyes, only to find that he was still in the dark. But it felt like he was in a bed. Why was it so dark? But it wasn't pitch-black. It was just dark. There was a faint hint of light. It didn't make sense.

Where was he?

He was having trouble remembering which asshole-of-the-week was around, this time, and if said asshole was the reason for his pain.

After a few moments, he remembered.

The gardening shed.

Sandy.

It was an accident.

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He was still hurting, and there were so many voices, and he still couldn't see, and it was still so dark, and who were all these people? Mike and his friends? Again? No, there were female voices. That meant…Lance.

_Fuck._

Lance had lots of girlfriends, something that his mom didn't seem to mind, and Lance liked to use Ryan to entertain his ladies.

Lance liked to toy with Ryan, teasing him about being let out. If he wasn't in already, he would be, soon, unless he could apologize quickly enough. Sometimes, if he sounded pathetic enough, it would amuse Lance and his girls, and Lance would only beat him.

Which was better than being locked in.

So, unable to see, unsure of where he was, but certain of what he wanted to avoid, Ryan spoke.

"Lance," he rasped out, through his extremely sore throat, "Lance?"

The voices were interrupting him, but he knew he had to tune them out. They didn't matter. Only Lance mattered.

"Lance, please. Please don't put me back in. Please. I-I…" Unable to say more, too tired and defeated, Ryan merely slumped his shoulders, waiting for Lance's verdict.

But it wasn't Lance's voice that responded.

"Aw, Kid, there's no Lance here. It's just me. It's just Sandy."

Sandy. Oh. Yeah. The gardening shed.

So…

"Where am I?" Ryan asked tentatively, afraid, but unable to say exactly what he was afraid of. Because he couldn't be afraid of Sandy.

Not Sandy.

"Ryan, you're still in the hospital. You're delirious, Kid. You're dehydrated and your blood pressure's too high, and your blood sugar's way too low. They've got you on all kinds of IVs, and you're getting better. Want some water, Kid?"

Water. No. Definitely not. That was a trick. Just like last time. Ryan had been offered water, he'd _needed_ the water, and then Sandy had yelled at him, taken it away, _knocked_ it away, and Ryan wasn't about to anger Sandy again.

He shook his head, pressing his lips into a thin line.

Sandy leaned in closer, saying, "Come on, Kid, you need to drink some water. You're really dehydrated. You'll feel better if you drink a little water." He nudged Ryan's hand with a water bottle, but Ryan recoiled from it, certain it was another trick.

"No, thank you," he replied quietly, hoping that Sandy would be satisfied and just leave.

Because he was defying his foster father. And what would happen now?

But Sandy just sighed, and Ryan felt the man shift away a bit.

Encouraged, Ryan asked, "Why's it still so dark? Why can't I see?"

Ryan flinched as he felt a hand touch his shoulder, calming when he remembered it was only Sandy.

When Sandy spoke, it was with a hitch in his voice, which Ryan couldn't understand.

"Kid, your eyes need some time to adjust to the light. You were in the dark for…for too long. Your eyes can't handle too much light, right now. So, they're bandaged up."

Ryan realized, now, that something was covering his eyes. Why hadn't he noticed that before? But they had to go. Because he _had_ to be able to open his eyes, he had to be able to see.

Ryan reached up to his face, ready to remove the bandages, when Sandy stopped him, gently holding Ryan's forearms in his firm, unyielding grip, carefully avoiding the injured left wrist.

Sandy spoke, softly but strongly, his voice so near Ryan's ear that Ryan attempted to shift away a little, only to be held in place by the older man's hold.

"Ryan, no, Kid, you can't take those bandages off, yet. You need to--Ryan!" he cut himself off, struggling with Ryan who was now outright fighting to get his hands out of Sandy's grip and remove those bandages from his eyes.

Sandy didn't let go, stopping Ryan from removing those bandages, and he heard a flurry of activity from around the bed, and that made him more nervous, because who were these other people? And what did they want?

Other hands were helping Sandy to keep Ryan's hands from his face, and Ryan struggled harder, needing to see, to protect himself.

Sandy was talking the whole time, telling Ryan to stop, but Ryan couldn't stop, because he needed to be able to _see_.

"Get the restraints!" he heard an angry woman shout, and that sent Ryan into a panic.

He instantly stopped reaching for his bandaged eyes, instead curling up into a tight ball. His forearms were still held in Sandy's firm grip, but Ryan was no longer attempting to break free. Instead, he was huddled into himself.

Desperate, pleading now, Ryan prayed that Sandy would help him, that whatever he'd done to make Sandy lock him in the shed hadn't been enough to make Sandy leave him at the mercy of these people with restraints. Ryan gasped out, "Please…Sandy, please don't let them tie me down. Please."

Sandy's grip on Ryan's forearms loosened, and the man's hands became soothing, instead of restraining. One hand began to brush through Ryan's hair, and the other remained on Ryan's chest, not exactly restraining, but still not releasing its hold on Ryan. "Ryan, okay, calm down, it's okay," Sandy was saying.

Then Sandy's voice grew harsh, and Ryan flinched, afraid of the anger, but he soon realized that the words weren't meant for him.

"Get away from him! No one is restraining my son! He's fine, now; there's no need to strap him down."

Another male voice responded, "Mr. Cohen, this boy is combative. We need to restrain him for his own safety."

Before Ryan could say anything, could try to prove that he was no longer a problem, he was surprised to hear Sandy's defiant voice, defending him. "He is _not_ combative, not anymore. If you would just take a moment to look, you would see that he is fine, now. He had a moment of panic, when he realized that his eyes were bandaged, but he is not fighting the bandages now. I can promise you that he will not remove the bandages, right, Ryan?"

This last was obviously directed at Ryan, and Ryan instantly responded, "Yes, I swear," grateful for Sandy's help, but still afraid of the anger in his tone.

"See?" demanded Sandy, still running a hand through Ryan's hair. "He's calm. There's no need for restraints."

"All right," the other voice responded, rather grudgingly. "But if he acts up again, we won't have any choice."

And that voice went away.

Leaving Ryan with Sandy.

Who had not let them strap him down.

Which was good.

Sandy was still talking to Ryan, but Ryan couldn't really understand the words. He was so tired.

But he needed to know.

"Sandy, why…?"

"Why, what, Kid?" Sandy asked, still touching Ryan, still soothing him.

Ryan was struggling to stay awake. He had to know.

"Why did you stop them? I screwed up…"

If Ryan hadn't known better, he would've been sure that Sandy's voice held tears in it, as he answered. "Aw, Ryan, no. You didn't do anything wrong. Everything's okay, Kid. You're fine. Everything will make sense in the morning. Sleep, now. Just sleep."

"'Kay…" Ryan said, drifting off to sleep.

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The next time Ryan woke, it didn't take him long to remember where he was, and why he was there. By the time he'd realized that he couldn't open his eyes, the memories all came flooding back.

The shed.

The dehydration.

The heat exhaustion.

The bandaged eyes.

The near-miss with the restraints.

The panic. _Fuck_. He couldn't remember much of the panic. But he knew that he'd panicked with Sandy. And that Sandy had to know, now. He had to realize that Ryan was screwed up, damaged goods. And who'd want to keep someone so damaged?

How much had Sandy heard? Did he know all of it? How out of it had Ryan been?

Ryan knew that he'd been afraid of Sandy, but he knew, now, that that fear was unfounded. He knew--he absolutely _knew_--with every fiber of his being that Sandy had not purposely locked him in the shed.

But he had been so _scared_. It's that stupid claustrophobia. It messed everything up. It made everything more confusing.

Ryan was so tempted to reach up and remove the bandages from his eyes, but he didn't want to risk restraints, again. It was bad enough to be unable to see, but being strapped _down _and unable to see? Would be so much worse.

So he took a deep breath and slowly stretched his body, testing for soreness and injuries. Every muscle hurt, ached and burned, like he'd run a marathon. Or suffered a beating. So, nothing new there. His left wrist throbbed, and he remembered that he'd probably sprained it, when he fell in the shed. His head was pounding, and he couldn't tell if that was from the dehydration or the bumps he'd received.

All in all, he could be a lot worse off.

Ryan started, when he heard the sound of a toilet flushing, and realized that someone must be in his hospital room's bathroom. Sandy, maybe?

As the visitor used the sink, Ryan prepared himself for the questions he knew would come. He straightened out his body and began to fumble blindly for the bed's controls. He'd feel better if he were sitting up. He still hadn't found the controls when the door to the bathroom opened, and someone began to near the bed.

Ryan froze, old habits making him wary, until he knew for sure who was in the room with him. While he was lying down in a hospital bed. Unable to see. Unable to defend himself.

The footsteps also froze, for just a moment, and then they quickened, heading towards the bed at the same time as Sandy's voice, so full of emotion, softly called out his name.

Sandy. Ryan relaxed. Sandy would help him out.

"Hey," Ryan said, quietly, surprised at how hoarse his voice was.

Sandy's cool hand lightly gripped Ryan's right forearm, squeezing gently, and Ryan was impressed that he refrained from flinching. He wasn't afraid of Sandy. He just…didn't like not knowing where touches were coming from. But he didn't flinch.

Sandy lightly rubbed his thumb up and down Ryan's forearm, as he spoke. "Kid, hey, how are you feeling? Any better? Do you know where you are?"

Knowing that Sandy had to be referring to Ryan's previous confused state, Ryan blushed a bit, mumbling, "Yeah. Hospital. Stuck in the gardening shed. How long?" With that, he turned his face to Sandy's, even though he couldn't see the man's face.

Sandy's thumb never paused its gentle rubbing, and Ryan appreciated the gesture.

"Three days, Kid. Three horrible, _horrible _days. Ryan, I'm _so _sorry…" Sandy's voice broke, and Ryan was shocked to realize that Sandy was crying. He was in tears. Because of what had happened to Ryan.

"Sandy, hey, it's okay. I'm fine. Please…" Ryan began, but Sandy cut him off.

"No, kid, it's not okay. I was so stupid. So stupid! I can't believe I did that! I almost…I could've…Ryan, if Seth hadn't figured it out…I'll never forgive myself." Sandy's grief was genuine, and it moved Ryan more than he had thought it could.

Ryan found himself wanting to comfort his foster father. He felt around until he had both of Sandy's hands in his, and he whispered, "Hey. I'm fine. It's okay."

Sandy surprised Ryan by choking back a sob and suddenly enveloping Ryan in a hug. He had leaned down and wrapped himself around Ryan, pulling him up, slightly, so he could get his arms around the boy. Ryan just held Sandy as Sandy's shoulders shook slightly, barely containing his sobs.

When the older man pulled away and gently lowered Ryan back down to the bed, they both had a moment of awkward silence, until Ryan said, "Hey, can you help me find the controls to the bed? I'd kind of like to sit up."

Instantly, Sandy started searching, crying out in triumph when he found the controls. "They fell off the bed." He handed them to Ryan, gently guiding Ryan's fingers over the controls, telling him which ones raised and lowered the bed.

Ryan didn't need the help, since he'd been in enough hospital beds to have the thing memorized by feel, but he wasn't going to tell Sandy that. Besides, the older man's touch felt nice. It was soothing and comforting. And Ryan reluctantly admitted to himself that he appreciated it.

Once Ryan had himself sitting up, Sandy seemed to remember something.

"Oh!" he cried out, instantly reaching for the controls again. Ryan relinquished them, wondering what Sandy was doing.

A moment later, a female voice came through the speaker. "Yes?"

"We were told to let you know when my son woke up. He's awake!" Sandy cried out, jubilantly.

Ryan couldn't help but grin a little, at that. Sandy sounded like a kid on Christmas.

The same female voice responded. "Okay. We'll be in, in just a moment."

"Thank you," Sandy replied, replacing the controls in Ryan's hand.

They sat in silence, again, until Ryan said, "Three days, huh? How'd you find me?"

Sandy sounded pained, again, but much more controlled. "Seth figured it out. Or, he finally remembered telling you that I was in the shed, and it was the only place left that we hadn't searched. It felt like a shot in the dark, but we were so hopeful, because we'd tried everything else, and we were desperate. Kid, when I opened that door and found you…It was like a miracle. I'm just so glad you're okay."

"Yeah, me too," Ryan replied, quietly.

"So what happened, Kid?" Sandy questioned.

Ryan was still tired, and his throat hurt, and he really wanted water, but there was this part of him that was reluctant to ask, and he didn't feel like examining that part, right now, so he turned it around on Sandy. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," he said, with a little grin.

Sandy chuckled, and said, "Sounds fair to me." He took a deep breath. "We wondered where you were, when you were late for dinner, but we just figured you were running late. Which you never do, and we should've known something was wrong, but…" he trailed off, shame filling his voice.

Ryan again reached for his foster father's arm, gently squeezing it, then dropping his hand. "It's okay, Sandy; I don't blame you. Please, just tell me what else happened."

Sandy took hold of Ryan's forearm, again, lightly rubbing with his thumb. "When dinner was over, and you still hadn't showed up, we couldn't deny our worries, anymore. When we questioned Seth, and he said he hadn't seen or heard from you since earlier in the afternoon, and you hadn't told him of any plans. We called Marissa, and she hadn't spoken with you all day. She's really worried about you, by the way, but Julie took her home after the first day, and she won't let her wait here. I'll call her and tell her you're awake. She'll be really relieved."

Ryan was selfishly glad to hear that Marissa had been worried for him. It was nice to know that the girl he had a crush on was concerned. "Thanks," he said, softly. His silence seemed to encourage Sandy to continue his tale.

"So, when we ran out of people to contact, and no one had heard from you, we decided to check out your room, more carefully. We all three went out to the pool house, and searched it for any clues. By the way, you are _way_ to clean and organized for a sixteen-year-old boy," he chuckled. "Make a mess, sometime, will ya?"

Ryan chuckled, too, then waited for Sandy to continue.

"Seth found your cell phone, and we all just stared at it, because we knew you wouldn't leave the house without it, and something had to be wrong. Kirsten was the one who finally broke the silence and called the police."

Here, Sandy's tone changed, and Ryan tensed at the anger he heard, but Sandy's thumb kept lightly rubbing Ryan's forearm, and Ryan focused on that, listening to Sandy's story.

"The cops were _useless_, insisting that you were a runaway, that you'd met up with some of your 'delinquent friends,' and that we were better off without you."

At this, Ryan ducked his head, pulled his arm from Sandy's grasp, and curled up a little.

Sandy must have realized what Ryan was thinking, because he was suddenly sitting on the bed, reaching for Ryan, gripping both upper arms and speaking firmly. "Ryan. We _never_ thought that. Never. It never once occurred to any of us, even for a single second. We _know_ you wouldn't do that, and we told the cops that. Okay, Ryan? Do you understand? We _never_ thought you'd run away. Not for a single second."

Sandy waited, and Ryan tried to find a way to respond. He hadn't thought about the possibility that the Cohens would have thought he had run off, not until Sandy had told him what the cops had said. But, once he'd heard it, he realized that they would have been within their rights to assume that. And he was overwhelmed with gratitude that they had, apparently, not thought that.

"It's okay," he said, softly. "I mean, if you did. What the cops said. I'd understand. You know where I came from, what I did to wind up in Newport--"

He was interrupted by Sandy's vehement response. "No, Ryan. It's not okay. You belong here, with us, and we told the cops that. They didn't believe us. So we insisted to speak with their superiors. Who also didn't believe us. So we contacted Caleb's private investigator, and he came over, right away."

Sandy had calmed down, now, so he let go of Ryan's arms, but his hand was resting on Ryan's right knee, and Ryan was again struck by the thought of how comforting that touch was.

"When Joe got there, he listened to what we had to say, but he didn't sound too optimistic. His only assumption was that maybe you'd been kidnapped by someone who would hold you for ransom, since you were staying with Caleb Nichol's family. But he didn't think that was really a possibility since…" he trailed off, not wanting to hurt Ryan.

So Ryan finished the sentence for him. "Since I'm not really Mr. Nichol's family. It's okay. I get it."

Sandy breathed deeply, and continued with his story. "So, Joe started looking for you, right away, but he never had any leads. It was midnight by the time he started searching, and he never found a single lead.

"We spent the next three days, frantic, going over every conversation we'd had with you within the last week, desperate for some sort of clue. On the third day, we sat down together, the three of us, Kirsten, Seth, and myself, and talked out every minor detail of every interaction we'd had with you, on the day you disappeared. When Seth mentioned that he'd told you I was in the shed, it just clicked. For all of us. We all stared at each other for a second, then Kirsten yelled that she was calling 911, and Seth and I took off for the shed. Because…it had been so hot…and you'd been there for 3 days. Jeez, Kid, if we'd lost you…"

Ryan again comforted his foster father the best way he knew how. "But you didn't. You found me. I'm okay."

Just then, the nurse walked in, cheerful and competent. "Well, Sleeping Beauty's awake! How are you feeling, Honey?" she queried, gently pushing Sandy off of the bed and taking Ryan's wrist in her cool fingers.

"I'm fine," Ryan automatically replied, mildly embarrassed at Sandy's and the nurse's laughs.

"Oh, sure, Honey, you feel fine," the nurse countered, sticking a thermometer in his ear for a moment, then removing it. "You _look _like you feel fine. Is he always this self-effacing?" she asked Sandy, with a grin in her voice.

"Oh, yes," Sandy replied. "It's very difficult to get him to complain."

"Well, Honey, if you want out of here, any time soon, you're going to have to tell us how you _really _feel, get it?"

Ryan couldn't help but grin at her calm, caring tone, and he said, "All right. I'm sore. My head hurts. And I'm…" He trailed off.

Concerned, the nurse patted his shoulder. "You're what, Honey?"

Hesitantly, not sure why he was so reluctant to say it, Ryan swallowed and whispered, "I'm thirsty."

"Oh, is that all?" questioned the nurse, who instantly began working with something beside the bed. "I'll just bet you're thirsty. Three days in that hot shed, with no water. You've gotta be parched." With that, she took Ryan's right hand in her left, and guided it to the water glass in her right hand. She waited until he had a firm grip on it, and then released his hand.

Ryan slowly raised the glass to his lips, and took a small sip. It hurt, going down, but it felt good, at the same time.

The nurse went on, talking to Sandy, this time. "Why didn't you offer that boy a drink, Mr. Cohen? You had to know he'd be thirsty."

Ryan remembered.

Sandy had knocked away the water. Ryan had been scared. Then, in the hospital, Sandy had tried to get Ryan to drink, and Ryan had been afraid to take it. Shit. Stupid claustrophobia. Screwed everything up.

Ryan finished his drink, and saved Sandy from the nurse's wrath by asking, "Can I get these eye bandages off?"

She took Ryan's empty glass, refilled it and handed it back to him, waiting for him to take another sip before answering him. "We'll have the ophthalmologist come in, a bit later, to do that."

Ryan voiced the fear that he'd been muffling. "Will I…is there any damage?"

"To your eyes?" the nurse asked. "No, we really don't think so. There was just no light in that shed, for so long, and you reacted so badly to the light when they pulled you out, that the doctors just wanted to be careful to avoid damaging your eyes. I'm sure it'll all be fine, when the doctor comes to take off the bandages."

Ryan breathed a sigh of relief. He'd been hoping that would be the answer. Still, he'd feel better when they took off the bandages. For many reasons. He's feel safer. And he wanted proof, for himself, that he could still see.

The nurse patted his shoulder and turned to leave, saying, "Keep drinking that water. If you need to go to the bathroom, either have your father help you, or call one of us for help. We don't want you hurting yourself, further."

Ryan merely nodded, while Sandy said, "You've got it."

There was another moment of silence, as Ryan heard a scraping across the floor of the hospital room, nearing his bed. He figured Sandy was dragging a chair to the bed, and was comforted in the knowledge that Sandy was close. He still had one more question, though. "How long have I been here?"

Sandy sighed, deeply, and answered, "Just a day and a half, kid. A day and a half. Other than the three days you were missing, this was the longest day and a half I've ever endured. Oh! Seth and Kirsten! They're gonna kill me!"

With that, Sandy instantly reached for the phone and began dialing.

Ryan grinned, listening to Sandy stammer his way through the explanation that Ryan had been awake for a good fifteen minutes, and that Sandy had not called them.

When Sandy hung up, he told Ryan that Kirsten and Seth would be there in twenty minutes. "They were here, for most of the time, Kid, but I made them go home and get some rest. I hope you know that they were so worried for you, and they wanted to stay, but there was no _way_ I was leaving, so I figured _someone_ should get some sleep. Please say that you understand that they wanted to be here?"

Ryan grinned, again, pleased to hear that the whole family was so concerned about him. "Yeah, Sandy, I get it. It's cool."

"Good," Sandy breathed a sigh of relief. They sat in companionable silence, again, before Sandy spoke.

"So, Kid. Who's Lance?"

Ryan jolted a bit at the unexpected shock. He'd known that Sandy would want some explanation of his panicked state, but he'd been hoping for some sort of lead-up. Plus, Lance? Fuck. So Ryan _had_ said some names, while he was freaked out. How many names had he mentioned? What details had he let slip? What did Sandy know? What would Sandy push to find out?

Fuck.

How was he going to get out of this?

Sandy reached out and took Ryan's forearm in his hands, again, and this time Ryan _did_ flinch. When Sandy maintained his grip, Ryan started to get a little nervous, and he shifted away, grateful when Sandy let him go. They were both quiet, again, until Sandy pushed.

"Kid? Please. Let me in."

Ryan breathed in a weary sigh. "I will, Sandy. I'll tell you everything. Everything you want to know. Just…"

"Just what, Kid?" Sandy asked, taking Ryan's arm in his, again lightly rubbing with his thumb.

Maybe Sandy knew this was soothing to Ryan. Maybe not. Either way, it did allow Ryan to say what he was thinking.

"Can we just…wait? I need to wait."

"Wait for what?"

"I need to be able to see."

Sandy waited for more, but Ryan wasn't forthcoming. So Sandy went over this in his head, trying to figure it out. When he realized he couldn't figure out what Ryan meant, he asked for clarification. "Need to see what, Ryan?"

"I just…if I'm going to talk about…that…stuff…I just need to see."

Sandy got it. "Oh. Sure. We'll wait until the doctors remove your eye patches, and everything is okay. But then? You'll talk?"

"Yeah." Ryan settled back into the pillows, resigned. "I'll talk."


End file.
